


I Have Powers Too

by FrostedGear



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers AU, Clint Barton has powers, Clint Barton-centric, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Sandwiches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29964876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedGear/pseuds/FrostedGear
Summary: Hawkeye has a power. It's just so inanely benign that he never brings it up.What is this power? The ability to bend the laws of reality in order to deliver a sandwich to him. He gets no say in if the person is friend or foe, but when he wants a sandwich hard enough, someone brings him one.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. Aw. PB&J.

**Author's Note:**

> This is likely just gonna be a collection of short drabbles with Clint summoning sandwiches/'testing' his powers. Erratic updates likely, feel free to send prompts in the comments.

Hawkeye did not have powers.

He had good aim, sure, and very above average sight. But these weren’t ‘powers’ in the superhuman sense of the word. He wasn’t strong and durable like Captain America, he couldn’t transform like Bruce Banner, couldn’t shoot lightning or do magic. He was just Clint.

Or at least, Clint had thought he was normal. There was one oddity though, and now that he knew superpowers were real, Clint thought perhaps maybe he did have a power. But if it was a power, it was inane and useless and he would go to his grave without ever mentioning it. Why?

Because it was a stupid power.

For years he had thought it a weird coincidence, that whenever he really, truly desired a sandwich, that one would be brought to him, no matter the situation. It happened in the circus, it happened at SHIELD HQ and it had happened on missions often enough Clint actively thought about anything _but_ sandwiches after that one time in Cambodia, where at 3:46am while on lookout he had been attacked by a legion of sword-wielding ninja and after incapacitating said ninja, had found each one bore a sandwich in one of the pouches on their hips. He had been sure it was just superstitious nonsense, like wearing lucky underpants, but now he was genuinely beginning to doubt the sandwich weirdness was just happenstance.

What if somehow, he was bending the laws of reality and making sandwiches come to him by any means possible?

It was ludicrous, would likely get him sent off for psyche evaluation. And yet, now that the thought was there, Clint wanted to test the possibility.

At least here, in Avengers Tower, he didn’t have to worry about battling a squad on ninja alone.

He was on the sofa in the common area, with Natasha sat beside him on her phone and Steve drawing in his sketchpad in an armchair across the way. Thinking they could probably handle whatever weirdness came of it, Clint let his thoughts drift towards a nice PB&J sandwich. Felt the need wholeheartedly, and then waited.

For a while, nothing happened. Neither Steve nor Natasha got up and declared they were going to the kitchen. The windows didn’t smash to allow a sandwich-bearing enemy access to the Tower.

Just as Clint was starting to think maybe he was wrong and sandwich powers really were not a thing, the elevator doors opened with a loud ding and out came Tony.

Turning to greet the man, Clint did a double-take, ogling the plate Tony held a second before asking, “Is that a sandwich?”

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? What’s the matter, bird-brain? Didn’t think I knew how to put food between two slices of bread?” he asked, walking towards Clint, Natasha and Steve before jabbing the plate out towards Clint. “You want it?”

“Aren’t you gonna eat it?” Natasha asked, looking up curiously.

“Nah, I was heading here to get rid of it and since Mr Tumble looks so fascinated by my ability to even make a sandwich, I figure he can have it,” Tony said with a thumb jerk towards Clint.

“You dropped it on the floor or something didn’t you?” Steve said without looking up from his sketch.

“No!” Clint might have believed Tony if not for the same slight tilt to his right shoulder that gave away his terrible hands in poker games. Lucky for Stark, Clint was still reeling from the possibility that _he_ had done this. With his sandwich powers.

Although. “It’s not PB&J,” Clint frowned, having shifted one of the bread slices to look at the contents.

Tony wrinkled his nose, “Why would it be? I don’t allow peanut butter in my workshop.” Clint nodded, remembering the Tower workshop had a kitchenette. Shrugging, Clint let the bread fall back into place and took a bite.

Sandwich Powers Test One: partial success.


	2. Aw. Gherkin.

“Uh… guys?”

Clint looked up from his tablet to see Steve standing jaw agape as the supersoldier stared at the TV.

“Yeah?” called Tony from the bar.

“Loki’s on TV,” Steve began carefully, gaze not shifting from the screen.

Looking, Clint’s eyes widened. “That’s… a lot of ice cream.”

“That ice cream used to be a street of parked cars.”

At the back of the room, Tony groaned. “Go suit up, I’ll meet you there. JARVIS, deploy Mark V.”

A street full of melting ice cream was decidedly worse in person. It was sticky, the air tasted sweet and there were children and dogs everywhere on all fours lapping at the dessert, seemingly convinced it was Christmas. And up above them all, Loki sat on a lamppost cackling so hard he was probably in danger of falling from his perch and breaking something.

Clint dearly hoped that would be the case.

Alas, while the Avengers ran evac, dragging screaming kids away from their interpretation of heaven and trying not to fall in the ice cream while doing so, Loki laughed on and did not fall from his perch.

Clint’s stomach growled. It has been almost lunch time when Steve noticed the Loki situation and an hour of running around the streets of Manhattan trying to get civilians out of the way had not helped his hunger levels. He’d be pretty open to a sandwich round about now.

The thought came unbidden and once he’d realised what he’d done and the dangers that were likely to come with it, Clint paled and took off to an empty area of the city, sticky strawberry flavoured footprints marking his route.

He wasn’t supposed to think about sandwiches on missions. Terrible, dangerous things could happen. There were still hundreds of innocent people out there! What if his powers summoned a Hydra agent, or if Loki stopped laughing long enough to attack him while a civilian brought Clint a sandwich?

“Barton.” Speaking of Loki. Swallowing thickly, Clint turned to the drawling voice.

Unlike Clint, who was warm and sticky from running around in ice cream up to his knees and covered in hand and paw prints from his various rescues, Loki was as unmarked as ever, his golden armour glittering in the afternoon sun. Something was off though. Eyebrows knitted together, Clint looked Loki over again.

“Hey, Loki. Is that a sandwich in your pocket or are you just that happy to see me?” he asked pointing to Loki’s trousers.

Loki’s gaze snapped down, a heavy frown on his features. Slowly, as though perhaps Loki thought the bulge might explode, Loki gingerly reached into his trouser pocket and removed a sandwich, looking utterly perplexed by its presence.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll have it,” Clint offered, hoping that by doing so the weird ritual of his Sandwich Powers would be satisfied and Loki would stop looking like the inoffensive meal had somehow violated his person.

“Yes. I think you _should_ take it,” Loki agreed absently, striding over to close the gap and place the sandwich in Clint’s open palm. Loki looked between Clint and the bread, mouth slightly open. “I think that’s enough mischief for today.”

He was gone in a flash of green and when Clint headed back to the main street, the ice cream had been returned to cars and there was no trace of where Loki had gone.

Just as confused as the other Avengers, Clint headed off to the Quinjet, idly munching on Loki’s sandwich and wondering if his power had somehow spooked Loki. An unexpected slimy crunch in his mouth started Clint. He looked at the sandwich. Gherkins.

Heading for the nearest trash can, Clint spat out the bite he’d taken and threw the rest of the sandwich away. What kind of monster puts gherkins in a sandwich?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not bashing on the gherkin lovers, but I personally hate them. I think they're called pickles in some places? Either way, no thank you.


End file.
